The Reason Why
by Andrea O'Down
Summary: Hamato Yoshi has lost everything - his wife, his daughter, his clan. He would have died in the flames as well, if a voice in his head hadn't told him to fight. So there must be a reason why he had survived all of this. But he has no idea was this might be. Because there's nothing left for him in Japan, Hamato Yoshi moves to New York.
1. Smoke And Ashes

_This story was written for the TMNT Mini Bang 2014 on tumblr (you can find a link on my profile page here). Many thanks to theherocomplex/Bee for organizing this (and for being awesome ;) ) and to hamstermastersamster for drawing this beautiful picture for this story (used as a cover image here). *hugs*_

* * *

**Chapter 01: Smoke and Ashes**

Hamato Yoshi was going to die.

He knew it the moment the ceiling came down. Wooden slates hit him and buried most of his body under them, pinning him to the ground.

He was reaching out, but it was of no use.

He was reaching out to someone who once was his friend, but now was his mortal enemy. He was reaching out to someone who had just set his home on fire and killed his wife.

He was reaching out out of pure reflex. It was of no use. He knew that.

Rather would the wooden slates move all by themselves before the man marching away from the battle ground would, his back turned to Yoshi.

Oroku Saki had come to finish him, and now he was going to leave him to die a long and painful death in the flames.

Yoshi lowered his arm.

He was alone.

Saki had disappeared into the night, Tang Shen was dead, and Miwa's cries had stopped a long time ago.

Yoshi was by himself now, he was lost.

And all he could do now was to prepare himself for death.

He would have preferred to die during battle, but if it was the fire fate had chosen for him, so should it be.

He was going to die, he thought as he closed his eyes in defeat.

_Yoshi, move!_

His eyes shot open. That voice! It had a striking resemblance with Tang Shen's voice, but that was impossible!

Tang Shen was dead, killed by a strike that had been meant for him.

He had seen her fall. He had seen the life fade from her eyes.

And surely, the voice wasn't coming from where he could see her pale hand in the dirt, visible under a pile of wood.

No, he must be imagining things.

_Move, my dear!_, the voice said again, and Yoshi looked around him, then back at Tang Shen's hand. But it wasn't moving, and the voice was coming from somewhere else, from inside his head.

Had he gone mad?

_Don't give up! You've never been weak, Yoshi, you've always been a fighter. Fight now! Live!_

Still Tang Shen's voice. And it still made no sense.

Tang Shen was dead. How could he hear her voice?

_Yoshi, fight!_

Why?, he asked back. Why should I fight? It is over!

_It isn't over, my love. You're still alive._

But for how long?

_If you fight now, for many years to come._

But what for? I lost you, my beloved. I lost our daughter, our home. Our clan has been wiped out. So I ask you, my love: WHY should I fight?

Tang Shen's voice was silent for a moment.

_That, I can't tell you, dear_, she said then. _But for now, you have to fight. Please, Yoshi, fight!_

But why?

_Yoshi, please! Fight!_

Her voice was begging, pleading, but it had a commanding ring to it. Begging and commanding and tolerating no dissent – only Tang Shen could manage that. Only Tang Shen could make Yoshi obey like this.

And with that he gathered what was left of his strength and pushed against a wooden slate, not caring about the burns it left on his hands. After a few moments of trying he could finally move it to the side. With a dull sound it fell to the ground and he focused on the next slate, one by one freeing his body from its burning grave.

When he finally crawled out of the pile of slates he was breathing heavily due to exhaustion and the lack of oxygen in the air.

He knew he should crawl away from the fire as far as he could, but something held him here, and he knew what it was when his eyes drifted over the pile of wood Tang Shen was buried under.

It was stupid. He knew she was dead, despite the voice he was hearing.

But he crawled there nonetheless, forcing his hurt body to bring up even more strength now, as he freed her body, grabbing her still from and dragged her away from the fire.

There he was kneeling now, holding Tang Shen in his arms.

He looked at her, waiting for a sign that he had been mistaken all the time, that she still had life in her.

She hadn't. The warmth of her body was fake, caused by the fire, not a sign of life. Tang Shen was gone, forever.

He felt tears prickle in his eyes and forced himself to look away from his dead wife.

But the sight in front of him wasn't any better.

The house was on fire, getting eaten by hungry flames that would leave nothing behind but smoke and ashes.

Their home, turned to smoke and ashes.

His weapons, turned to smoke and ashes.

Tang Shen's beautiful clothes, turned to smoke and ashes.

Miwa's toys, turned to smoke and ashes.

Life as he had known it, turned to smoke and ashes.

His family was gone, his clan was gone. Oroku Saki had told him when he had arrived here. His Foot clan had attacked the Hamatos, killing them all.

But Yoshi, Yoshi, Saki had left for himself to finish, for watching him fall, for leaving him to die.

Yoshi tried to breath around the lump in his throat.

He had lost everything!

All that had been left for him was his life.

And why?

For watching his old life getting turned to smoke and ashes? To keep breathing when all people that had been dear to him were already sleeping their never-ending sleep?

Why was he still here?

He forced his eyes away from the fire and looked into Tang Shen's face.

"Tang Shen," he whispered.

Her face was calm, peaceful. There was no sign of the fear and horror that had displayed on her face just some time ago.

He brushed a few strands of hair away from her forehead.

"You've been stupid, my love," he said. "Why did you get in the way? Why did you save me?"

He took a shaky breath.

"Why did you tell me to live?" he asked.

This time, the voice remained silent.


	2. Picking Up the Pieces

**Chapter 02: Picking Up the Pieces**

Carefully, Yoshi walked over the ground paved with the remains of what once had been their home, his family's home, now turned to wooden slates and debris. He let his eyes wander over the ground, searching for something that could turn out useful.

He had already found some things he maybe could sell later.

And he had found the photograph of him, Tang Shen, and Miwa, all in formal attire, which they had kept in their family shrine. The frame was broken, but the photograph itself had miraculously stayed undamaged by the fire and the collapse of the building.

Okay, maybe this wouldn't really count as useful. But it was important to him, something he could look at when he felt lonely, something that would remind him of his old life when he had started his new one, the new life Tang Shen had told him to live.

His eyes wandered away from the debris to the place on the grass where her body had rested.

They had taken her way, the authorities. Fire service, police, ambulance, they had all arrived here a little while ago, but they hadn't paid much attention to what was going on. The fire fighters had only extinguished what had been left of the fire and then they had left again. Same went for the police and the ambulance, only that they had taken Tang Shen's dead body with them.

Yoshi had watched them from his hiding place. It had taken them way too long to get here – a sign for him that Oroku Saki had paid them to stay away. Or maybe he had threatened them. Or maybe both.

And that they had only looked at the scene rather superficially had been another sign for Yoshi that Saki had made sure they wouldn't look too closely, that they would close their eyes to the obvious.

Tang Shen, are you there, my beloved?

But again, Tang Shen didn't answer. Maybe she couldn't, maybe she had nothing to say, maybe she didn't want to.

With a sigh Yoshi focused on his task again, stepping over the remains of his old life.

He still couldn't believe it.

Oroku Saki had done all of this. Oroku Saki, his old friend, Oroku Saki, the Shredder.

Yes, maybe he should only call him by his nickname from now, the nickname he had given him all these years ago when they still had been kids. It fitted now more than ever, now that he had shredded his life to pieces.

Yoshi had first called him "the Shredder" when he had seen Saki simply shred a practice dummy during training.

And Saki had countered by giving Yoshi the nickname "Splinter" when he had managed such a hard strike that he had chipped off a piece of the wooden practice sword.

Yoshi and Saki, Splinter and Shredder, they once had been like brothers. And now they were enemies.

Or not anymore. Saki thought that Yoshi was dead, and Yoshi would do his bit to not prove him wrong.

He only could start a new life when Saki and his minions wouldn't come looking for him.

He would go to the United States, New York City, maybe. He had always liked this city, and it was a good place to keep a low profile. It was perfect. And Yoshi knew how to get there without leaving any traces. He was a ninja after all.

He looked over the remains of the house once more. There couldn't be any more useful things left here, he was sure about that.

And he didn't dare to dig any deeper. Miwa was lying down there somewhere, her little body burned unrecognizably, and he was sure he wouldn't be able to bear the sight of this.

So he had settled for a superficial search.

His eyes were pinned to the ground before him, but suddenly, he stopped.

This piece of debris in front of him looked rather weird, almost evenly formed, almost like a…

He gasped and knelt down, brushing away the ashes from what turned out to be a tessen.

His tessen.

No, Miwa's tessen!

He held the iron fan before his eyes. It was undamaged, whole. He looked at the Hamato-sign on it, the sign of a family that didn't exist any longer, a whole clan turned into dust.

He had intended to pass it on to his daughter one day, a tessen being the perfect weapon for a kunoichi if she would have decided to become one.

But Miwa was gone as was Tang Shen. He was alone.

He was about to start a new life, to live, just like Tang Shen had told him. But not just yet.

Now, he still had a little time left to mourn, to cry.

He placed his free hand over his face and allowed himself to cry.

* * *

Yoshi looked at the family shrine he had built in his new home. He had been right about New York City. It still was the perfect place to keep a low profile.

He had made it here, unseen, undetected, and now he lived in his new hideout, his lair, a place no one would ever come looking for him – the sewers of New York.

He had found an old abandoned subway station he was now turning into a livable place bit by bit.

He had already finished the dojo and his room, next on his list was the bathroom, followed by the kitchen.

Yes, he maybe didn't really need to turn this into a real apartment, but there were days when he had too much time at hands and he needed to keep himself busy. And there was only so much time he could spend meditating and training, so the rest of his free time was used for searching the junkyards for things he could repair and either sell or use himself.

And then there were days when the work at the harbor was so exhausting, he was just happy to make it home and lie down in his room and sleep.

The harbor was one of the few places where he could work, where no one asked for papers or names. And he had made some money so far.

He had spent most of it on new weapons. though. There was this blacksmith. Yoshi had remembered him. He had once met him before, all these years ago. He was specialized on Japanese weapons, and – what was even more important – he never asked any questions as long as the money was right. He didn't care about names, he didn't care about his customer not showing his face. He was the perfect blacksmith for a ninja keeping a low profile.

He had thought having all these weapons would make him feel welcome here sooner. And it had helped little, but he still felt out of place here.

Yoshi turned around and looked at the tree, growing right here in the dojo.

When he had searched the city for a hideout and had finally ended up in the sewers, in this abandoned subway station, he hadn't been sure if this was the right place for him. But when he had found the tree, growing in this unlikeliest of places, he had realized that this place had been meant for him.

A tree growing under the streets of New York, only living on the little light that fell through a grate above it and some water that had collected here before Yoshi had drained the room, it was a sign, a miracle, and sometimes all you needed was a miracle to make the right decision.

The tree had already been rather big back then, but his leaves hadn't been as green as they were right now after months of Yoshi's care. It had become a beautiful tree now, a great place for meditation, a great place to live, but still, this didn't feel like his new home.

With a sigh Yoshi turned back to the family shrine and looked at the picture of himself, Tang Shen, and Miwa he had brought with him from Japan. Yes, this was his new place now, but it still didn't feel like his new home, his new life.

Are you telling me now why I am here, my love?, he tried again, but as all the times before, Tang Shen remained silent.

He placed a hand on his chest where he kept the only other picture he had brought from Japan, the picture of himself and Tang Shen during the early times of their relationship, the picture, Oroku Saki had taken. They had all been friends back then, and Saki had even asked if he could keep a copy of the picture for himself because he wanted to always have a picture of his two best friends with him.

And now, all was different. Tang Shen was dead, and Saki was his enemy, an enemy that would only leave him alone as long as he didn't know anything about him still being alive.

Yoshi sighed again.

Maybe he should go to sleep now. Tomorrow was a new day, and maybe tomorrow, this place would feel like his new home. Maybe tomorrow, his new life would finally begin.


	3. A New Life

**Chapter 03: A New Life**

Waking up the next morning, Yoshi had realized that unfortunately, the abandoned subway station he tried so hard to turn into a livable place, still didn't feel like home to him. It still felt somehow strange to wake up there in his small room, to cross the dojo, to start a new day.

He was walking down the streets, thinking that maybe some fresh air would make him feel better until he caught something from the corner of his eye. He stopped rooted to the ground and turned his head to the shop window.

Turtles for sale? He smiled. He had always liked these little green creatures, and maybe what his new place really lacked was some more life. Maybe all he needed was a pet.

* * *

Or maybe four, he corrected himself when he left the pet shop with a bowl of four baby turtles. Yes, he hadn't intended to buy four of them, but they had looked so perfect together, like a little family, he just hadn't had the heart to separate them.

He looked at them with a smile, but then a man passed him, and something felt odd about this man.

For a second, Yoshi hesitated. He wasn't here to get into trouble, he was here to start a new life, to keep a low profile.

Looking around him, the man disappeared into a side street.

Maybe Yoshi should let it pass, but this feeling, this odd feeling this man had given him, it didn't go away. Something was wrong here, terribly wrong.

And so he decided to follow.

* * *

The pain was unbearable. This strange, green liquid was burning on his skin like fire, his bones felt like they were being broken and rearranged. He cried out in pain, but the cry was so much different from what a cry of him had ever sounded before. So different, almost not human.

When the pain finally faded he was on his knees, breathing heavily.

His body felt strange, like it didn't belong to him.

He looked around him. His clothes were lying on the ground, torn to pieces. But before he could start wondering what had happened to them – he did remember hearing the tearing of fabric, though, although it had seemed so far away – he caught a glimpse of his hands.

His eyes widened.

What had happened to his hands? They looked so different! His fingers were pink and long, and there were only four of them. What had happened to his fifth finger!?

He rose to his feet a bit unsteadily and looked down his body.

Fur? He was covered in brown fur!

He turned around a bit. A tail?! Why did he have a long, furless tail all of a sudden? It looked almost like the tail of a…

He froze.

After a few seconds of not moving, he rose a shaky, oh so strange hand to his face, hesitantly touching it with his fingers.

That wasn't his face! It was deformed and hairy, and it couldn't belong to him! It just couldn't!

But before he could deepen this thought he saw a movement from the corner of his eye.

He quickly turned his head, fearing for a moment that these strange men had come back.

But it wasn't the men he saw there, though, although he wasn't quite sure of what to make of what he was seeing.

There were four little creatures, green creatures with shells, pressing their backs, no, their carapaces against the wall opposite him, looking at him with wide eyes. They had moved together, and one of them had laid his arms around the other three protectively. Two of them were pressing against him, their eyes wide with fear. The protective one was just watching him closely, while the forth gave him an angry glare.

The bowl with the turtles! He had let it fall right after the pain had started, and now there were four turtle-like creatures there, although they were standing on two legs and had hands.

But this must be it. Those were his four pet turtles!

Then the thought of the strange men came back to him. They could still return. He needed to get out of here.

And he surely couldn't go back on the streets and risk to be seen, not in his new appearance.

He looked around the side street until his eyes set on a manhole cover.

Looked like he needed to find his way back to the lair underground today, but he was sure he would manage. He walked over to the manhole cover and lifted it. But before he could jump down, he set eyes on the four turtle-creatures again.

They were still pressed against the wall, but their eyes followed his every move. And he knew he couldn't leave them here. Whatever they were, he was responsible for them.

And with that thought he started walking over to them, but he stopped halfway, looking down on the broken canister that hat contained this strange liquid, and the shards of the bowl. There even was the pink plastic palm tree there that had been in the bowl together with the turtles as some sort of decoration.

He picked up the canister. He wasn't even sure why he did that. It wasn't of any value for him. It was just a broken canister. But he did it nonetheless.

He then continued his path, kneeling down in front of the little creatures. They tried to back away, but there was no room left, so they only pressed their carapaces against the wall a bit more.

"It is alright, little ones," Yoshi said gently. "I am not going to hurt you."

He held out his hand to them, this strange new hand, but they again tried to back away.

He turned around and looked back at the shards of the bowl and the plastic palm tree, and he had an idea. He moved back to the place where he had dropped the bowl, picked up the pink palm tree and got back to the little creatures.

"Look," he said, holding the pink little palm tree out to them. "Do you remember this? It's yours."

They looked at him a bit surprised and fearful, but the eyes of the one of them who had pressed against his protective brother a little more somehow brightened at the sight of the pink object and he moved a little closer, reaching out for it.

He touched the pink leaves and giggled.

"Right," Yoshi said. "This belongs to you."

The little creature took the pink plastic palm tree and held it in his fist firmly. He looked back to his brothers and the protective one moved closer. The frightened one hesitated, but then followed, too. Only the angry looking one didn't move, just kept glaring at Yoshi.

Yoshi moved his hand to the creature with the plastic palm in his little hand, touching him gently, and when he didn't protest, he picked him up. He did the same with the protective and the frightened one, and although the protective one struggled a bit and the frightened one froze, they let him pick them up.

They were little, about the size of really young children, and so he was sure he could carry them all at once – if the angry one stopped looking at him like that and would allow him to touch him.

"You don't need to be afraid," Yoshi said as he reached for him, but the little creature avoided his hand.

Yoshi sighed. There wasn't much time left, and at the moment he really considered just grabbing the angry one like that no matter how much he'd struggle, the one with the plastic palm tree showed the pink object to his brother and smiled at him. The angry one glared at Yoshi once more, but when Yoshi reached for him, he allowed him to pick him up.

With a sigh of relief Yoshi, holding four little green creatures and a broken canister in his arms, disappeared into the darkness of the sewers.

* * *

Back at the lair he brought the four former pet turtles into his room. He just set them down on the floor that was covered with old rugs, and placed the broken canister on the floor, too.

He had intended of preparing some food for them, but now the events of the day suddenly pushed him to the ground. He just managed to crawl over to the nearest wall, leaned against it and buried his face in his hands. Or not really. This strange face didn't fit into his hands any longer, this stupid snout with the whiskers, so all he could do was cover his eyes with his hands as he couldn't hold back the tears any longer and started crying.

He was a rat now! A rat! So another thing of his former life had been turned into dust – his human appearance. He was no human any longer, he was a rat!

He had no idea how long he had been sitting there, crying, but suddenly he felt something touch his arm, gently, cautiously.

He took his hands from his face and looked into the big eyes of the little turtle creature with the plastic palm tree still in one of his hands. He looked a bit sad and concerned.

"Yes, little one?" Yoshi asked gently, and the sound of his voice made the little creature brighten up again a bit.

He held out his hand with the palm tree to Yoshi.

"For me?" Yoshi asked, holding out his hand, and the little creature placed the plastic palm tree in it.

"Thank you, little one," Yoshi said, staring at the pink plastic object in his hand, his oh so strange looking hand.

He looked back at the creature and he smiled at him.

"Thank you so, so much," Yoshi whispered.

He had still no idea what these creatures were, but something told him they weren't pets any longer.


	4. The Reason Why

**Chapter 04: The Reason Why**

In the next couple of weeks Yoshi or rather Splinter – he preferred that nickname now more, now that he had lost his human appearance – learned what this turtle-creatures really were – children.

They were following him around the lair all day and every time they set their eyes on something they hadn't seen before their eyes grew wide with wonder.

It always made Splinter smile although there sometimes was a little sadness to it as it reminded him of his daughter.

But the more time he spent with the four turtle-boys, the more the sadness faded until he realized how dear the four had grown to him.

When he had to leave the lair to search for food in the dumpsters, he always tried to get back as soon as possible, afraid that something might have happened to them, but they always greeted him in the room he had to lock them in until he came back.

Sure, locking children into a room wasn't a nice thing to do, but when you lacked a babysitter, safety was more important than niceness. And he intended to only do that until they were old enough to understand that they had to wait for him. Right now, they were way too curious.

He spent as much time with them as possible, playing with them, taking care of them, but they still were nameless.

He had tried several names in his head like Makoto, Takeru, Akira, or Kenji, but they didn't seem quite right.

So even after some weeks he still referred to them as little ones and boys.

This evening they were all gathered in the dojo. Splinter was sitting under the tree, balancing a book on his knees, as three of the turtle boys were close to him, looking at the book's pages curiously. The forth one was sitting a bit away from, playing with a toy car Splinter had brought to the lair the other night, not being interested in the book at all, but he made sure he checked on what they were doing, because every now and then he glanced over to his brothers and Splinter, but only when he thought he was being unwatched.

Splinter, however, realized and thought what a great ninja this little turtle boy could become one day. But he didn't let it show, playing his role of having not detected anything really well.

He turned another page of the book. It was a book about the Italian renaissance he had found in the trash some days ago. He had possessed the same book back in Japan and he had spent hours looking through it back then. He loved the drawings and sculptures from that time. They were just so beautiful!

Tang Shen had often been with him when he had looked through it, her head resting on his shoulder. She had never said anything, just looked at the pages, sitting there calmly, her warm breath tickling his cheek.

And now he was looking through the book with some turtle boys, but they were far from sitting there calmly.

He had just turned another page when the most cheerful one among the four gasped and pointed at the double page featuring the ceiling fresco of the Sistine Chapel.

The turtle boy laughed and looked at Splinter with a big grin on his face.

"This was made by an artist named Michelangelo Buonarroti," Splinter explained.

The little turtle giggled and looked back at the fresco.

"Mi…Mi…," Splinter heard all of a sudden, and his eyes grew wide.

Was this turtle trying to speak? But why not? They were pretty human-like, despite their appearance, so why shouldn't they be able to talk?

"Michelangelo," he repeated and the turtle turned back to him with another giggle.

"Mi…Mi…," he said again.

"Michelangelo," Splinter said again, and the turtle boy replied with a little laugh.

"Do you want to be called Michelangelo?" Splinter asked, and the turtle boy giggled again, grinning broadly.

Splinter smiled. "Well, it is settled then," he said. "You shall be named Michelangelo."

And he patted Michelangelo's head which was answered with a joyful little sound.

Then he felt a tug on the sleeve of his kimono – yes, he had decided to wear a kimono, because although his body was fully covered in fur, he still felt naked without any clothes, the human part of him demanding his right of being covered with fabrics. He looked to the cause of the tug and found the tallest one of the turtle boys looking at him impatiently, nodding his head towards the book.

This one was the one who loved looking through books, but if they stayed on one page too long, he grew impatient, wanting to see more and more of new things every day.

"Yes, of course," Splinter said and turned the page.

He then watched the boy closely as he looked at some sculptures by Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi.

"I see," Splinter said. "And since the real name is too long, we should go by the acknowledged abbreviation, don't you think, Donatello?"

The turtle boy turned his head to Splinter for a moment, before he turned back to the page, simply drinking in every detail of the sculpture shown there, and when he shifted a little, Splinter knew it was time to turn the page again.

They spent a few minutes like this, but when they reached a picture of the Mona Lisa, the calmest of the four leaned forward a little.

"The Mona Lisa, drawn by Leonardo da Vinci," Splinter explained, and then added with a smile, "Leonardo."

He had just turned another page when the forth of the turtles got up and marched over to them, coming to a stop in front of Splinter and vigorously placed his hand over a page.

Splinter looked at him with a warm smile. The boy had no idea that he had just touched the page featuring the Sistine Madonna by Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino, but he had done it with such self-esteem, so demandingly, that Splinter couldn't help but giving him the name he had just chosen for himself.

"I understand," he said with a little nod, "Raphael."

* * *

Later that night the four turtle boys Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo were lying on the rugs of the dojo, having fallen asleep while chasing each other. Michelangelo had been the first to simply lie down, curl up, and fall asleep, while just a few seconds ago, he had chased Donatello. Leonardo had then checked on him, lying down next to him, and soon Donatello had followed suit. Raphael had been the last to follow, looking around the dojo with an angry look on his face before he had lied down at his brothers' side as well.

Now there was a little turtle pile in the middle of the dojo, and Splinter looked at it with a smile as he put a blanket over them, watching the peaceful looks on their faces before he walked over to the family shrine.

He looked back to the turtles over his shoulder once more, and the sight of them sent a warm feeling through his heart, his whole body.

With a small chuckle he turned back to the family shrine, looking at the picture of himself, Tang Shen, and Miwa.

Are they the reason?, he asked an unverbalized question. Are they the reason why you told me to live?

_My dear Yoshi_, Tang Shen's voice said in his head, and her voice was warm with a smile, he could feel it. _For a moment, I was afraid, you'll never understand._


End file.
